


Let Depart All That Keeps You In Its Cage

by jumpstarts



Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpstarts/pseuds/jumpstarts
Summary: Eddy has died so many times over that it takes forever (and a half) for him to remember how to live.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 14
Kudos: 71





	Let Depart All That Keeps You In Its Cage

**Author's Note:**

> i've always wanted to write an inception au. beware of shifting timelines. and comments are always nice. :)
> 
> anyone on twitter and willing to indulge my 2set malarkey? i'm @ carnyvale.

.

"You don't understand." Eddy coughs in between inhales, licks the telltale red smear at the corner of his lips discreetly because their time hasn’t run out. Not yet. They’re three levels deep and the bullet that punctured his stomach doesn’t care what happens to him if he dies here. "I can't afford to stop now."

Michael's palm slides over the length of the cue. He favours Eddy with a glance before he makes the shot. The building groans around them as the balls clatter against the polished sides of the table. He pockets a few and straightens, frowns in disapproval at Eddy.

"You're going to kill yourself."

The floor starts tilting and Eddy has to fight to stay on his feet. Michael doesn’t seem to notice, but maybe he does and they both know this game is coming to a premature end. When Eddy hears the faint first note of Sarasate’s Navarra, he smiles. Closes his eyes and curls his fingers around his totem. "That’s the plan."

.

_“I’ll find you.”_

Eddy doesn’t remember who said that to him.

He looks out of the window and it’s already winter. His arthritic fingers clumsily unwind the scarf from around his neck and place it right next to his coffee, over the folded morning paper. That’s when he notices that there are two mugs on the table. He lives alone in this little cottage at the edge of a postcard-perfect village, has been for the past fifty two years. He stares at the extra mug for a few minutes, puzzled. It’s half empty and is still steaming gently.

He doesn’t remember making coffee.

“ _I’ll find you._ ”

Eddy takes the violin out of its case and tucks it between his shoulder and jaw. The bow feels as light as a feather in his hand. His memory might slip and slide, but he will always have this. 

“ _I promise._ ”

His fingers don’t move like they used to and he’ll always struggle with left hand pizzicato, but he plays.

And plays.

And plays. 

.

The job ends and they’re getting double-crossed. Eddy wouldn’t have thought it possible – he’d vetted everyone through the usual channels, cleared background checks with extreme prejudice before he went out to recruit them. There’s a reason he’s one of the best point-men in the business: he doesn’t fuck up. Or rather, _didn’t_. Jules, their chatty, irreverent architect, is sprawled out on the floor after catching a bullet in the brainpan and his blood gleams a sickly red under the bright fluorescent lights overhead. His eyes are wide open, frozen in an expression of surprise, and he’s looking straight at Eddy.

 _Tough fucking luck_ , the dead says. Eddy feels the weight of his totem against his collarbone and he knows: there’s no waking up from this. _See you on the flip side, captain_.

Eddy hears Su-Oh’s footsteps, coming closer each second. She wears heels sharp enough that she wouldn’t have needed the gun. He forces his eyes away from Jules when she croons, poison-sweet, “Edward, _baby_. Why don’t you be a darling and step out, hm? I’ll make it quick if you don’t waste my time.”

The upturned table offers little protection, but it’s better than nothing. Eddy presses a hand to his shoulder and it comes away wet with blood. He looks up and sees Su-Oh, sees the gun.

“It’s nothing personal.” Her head tilts as she lifts a foot and digs the very pointy end of her heel into the hole punched through his shoulder. Eddy jerks and has to bite his lip to stop a scream from spilling over his throat. He tastes blood when she leans in harder. Her grin is shark-like, too many teeth. “Just business, baby.”

He takes in short, wheezing breaths and wishes she would stop calling him ‘baby’. He raises his other hand and curls blood-slick fingers around her ankle, glaring at her. “Go to hell.”

The barrel of her gun doesn’t waver when she blows him a kiss. “You first.”

A single gunshot rings around them. Eddy hasn’t closed his eyes, determined to stare Su-Oh down as she puts him out of his misery but he’s still drawing breath. Painful ones, but very much alive. Su-Oh, on the other hand, sways for a bit, before pitching back. Crumpling to the floor, much like Jules did and isn’t retribution wonderful. Eddy looks to the side to see Brett Yang staring down at him, forehead creased into a frown.

The extractor had left right after they’d kicked out of their mark’s dream, something about another job on the other side of the planet. Eddy even waved him goodbye as he packed up their little station, waiting for the timer to run down on the PASIV. Fifteen minutes later, Su-Oh shot Jules. And then the mark. Bang bang, two down.

She’d also shot Eddy clean through the shoulder in her bid to win The Worst Team Member of the Decade award.

Logistically, Brett shouldn’t be here.

It might be the blood loss talking, but Eddy hears himself say, almost accusatory, “You said you had a plane to catch.”

Amusement flickers behind the thick-rimmed glasses. He slips his gun into its holster and makes a show of checking his watch. “Should be able to make it if I leave right now.”

Eddy blinks in an attempt to clear the dark spots creeping into his vision. He doesn’t succeed much. “Call an ambulance on your way out, please and thank you.”

Brett hmms. There are three dead bodies in the warehouse and Eddy’s about to be the fourth if this conversation doesn’t wrap up soon. He’s grappling at staying conscious when he hears Brett say, “You owe me a bigger cut for this mess.”

Eddy uses the last dredge of his strength to roll his eyes. “Sure. I’ll even buy you dinner afterwards. Make it a proper date.”

He can’t be certain, but he thinks he hears Brett laugh as he sinks into the waiting embrace of darkness.

.

Eddy wakes up in a small, dingy room and the first thing he does is check his totem.

Once he’s convinced he’s not in a dream, he looks around. A block of dim, grey light from the open window sets the time at nothing at all – could be dusk, could be dawn. If he squints, he can make out a faint outline of the surrounding buildings. Nothing familiar. His wound had been cleaned and dressed and he can feel stitches pulling at raw skin when he pushes himself up, sitting with his back against the headboard. Eddy’s swinging his feet onto the floor when the door opens, and a boy walks in, carefully balancing a tray in his small hands. The boy makes a quiet noise of surprise when he sees Eddy awake and offers him the content of the tray. A thin vegetable soup and a glass of water. Slices of hard bread. The boy doesn’t speak any English and Eddy cycles through all the languages he knows until the boy’s face lights up when he lands on Polish.

He murmurs, “ _Wszystko w porządku, jesteś już bezpieczna_ ,” and then runs off to get his grandfather in the next room.

Eddy spies his phone on the bedside table. A couple of messages sit in his inbox.

_made the flight._

And another: _i like hotpot._

Eddy thumbs his phone off. He drags the tray closer and dunks a piece of bread into the soup.

.

Summer in Australia is always overbearing and there are signs that this year’s going to get worse. The girl hands the cup of gelato over with her best customer service smile and Eddy nods his thanks, struggles for a bit to take his card out of his wallet one-handed. She bestows him a sympathetic smile and asks why his other hand’s in a sling.

“Fell down the stairs,” Eddy laughs, self-deprecating. His gelato’s melting in the time it takes for him to add, “Lucky I didn’t die.”

The girl laughs, perhaps thinks he’s exaggerating or flirting or both, and Eddy goes along with it.

At his side, Belle’s expression twists into one of long-suffering exasperation.

 _Home sweet home_.

.

The phone box is papered with ads, a fresh haphazard layer to hide the peeling, yellowing papers underneath. Eddy stares at the picture of a scantily-clad redhead ( _Call the number below and we’ll make your wildest dreams come true!_ ) as he waits for the call to go through. When the dial tone abruptly stops and there’s only silence from the other end, he says, “Hey, I have another job lined up. Team’s missing an extractor, if you’re interested.”

The silence stretches for a few more seconds. “ _Email me the details._ ”

Eddy nods at no one and the line goes dead. His phone vibrates in his pocket.

The text message reads, _you still owe me dinner._

.

Taiwan isn’t part of his travel plan. Eddy meets Brett there anyway. He finds a hotpot restaurant with reasonable Yelp reviews and spends hours trying to determine the exact shade of Brett’s eyes. They exchange stories about mutual acquaintances, the best jobs they’ve worked and the worst (they don’t mention the shit show in Malapolska and Eddy’s grateful). They discuss the rumours that someone had attempted inception and succeeded. Brett calls bullshit; Eddy isn’t so sure.

"If they get a good enough chemist to come up with a compound capable of putting them under and stabilising the dream levels required for the idea to be planted—” Eddy argues. He skewers a fishball with his chopsticks. “—it’s not impossible.”

“You’re fucked if you die before the timer runs out though,” Brett points out. He’s not wrong; the threat of dropping into limbo hovers over their heads like the blade of a guillotine.

Eddy shrugs. He pops the fishball into his mouth, sees the way Brett’s eyes linger and feels warm all over. “Then don’t die.”

It’s nearly one in the morning when they stumble back to Brett’s hotel room.

He wakes up late, aching pleasantly. The other side of the bed is empty, but the shower’s running and he thinks about what this is supposed to be. He thinks about leaving, and then he thinks about staying. The bruises on his hips are just starting to darken and a part of him likes the way they wear on his skin. It’s been a while since he carries marks from someone who doesn't want to kill him. His meandering thought doesn’t get very far, because Brett steps out of the bathroom and suddenly, there are more pressing things to attend to. Like the way Brett’s eyes go darker, hungrier when he languidly makes his way to the bed. Like the ease in which Brett slides his hands over Eddy’s thighs, simultaneously gentle and demanding. Parting them and squeezing himself inside, as if he’s always belonged there.

Eddy’s chest goes tight, unbearably so, and he’s the first to look away.

.

Belle cuffs him around the head and says, "What did you do this time?"

He rubs the back of his head, scooting over to the other side of the couch to make space for his sister. They're watching the year's Menuhin Competition ( _she_ insists; he's only there because he hasn't seen her since she moved to London) and he levels her an injured look at the abuse. "Nothing!"

She snorts, disbelieving. On the screen, a ten year old prodigy breezes through Paganini's Nel cor più non mi sento like she's been playing longer than he'd been alive. Belle pokes at the side of his neck, an eyebrow raised. "New girlfriend?"

Eddy bats her hand away, feels his cheeks warming as he remembers the bruises scattered across his skin. "None of your business."

"Someone's gotta be looking out for you and your self-destructive tendencies."

The way her voice softens makes his throat close up. They don't see each other as often as they should — she knows what he does, vaguely, and he intends to keep her out of his immediate circle. After what happened to their parents, it's the least he can do. "You don't have to worry about me."

Belle's knee nudges against his. "That's what big sisters do, stupid."

.

“Brett, this is Toni, our architect.” Eddy steadfastly refuses to acknowledge Toni’s raised eyebrows. She knows too many of his secrets and while he trusts her to keep them, he doesn’t trust her enough to believe she wouldn’t corner him about it later. He steers Brett away from her. “And this is Oliver. He’s the best chemist this side of the hemisphere.”

Once the formalities are out of the way, they get to work.

Eddy catches Toni’s eyes, sees a reprimand there. And concern.

He turns to the board to start briefing them about the COO of a big pharma company they’re going to hijack. It’s supposed to be a quick in-and-out and their forger’s flying in from Amsterdam in a red-eye the next day, just in time to make the schedule. The weight of Brett’s scrutiny feels like fingers skittering over his skin, and if his words come out sharper than usual, he blames it on the three cups of coffee he’s had on his way to the site.

Brett leans back into his chair and his scrutiny turns thoughtful, calculating. 

.

Toni ambushes him when the rest are gone for the night. Eddy could’ve sworn she left earlier, but apparently he’d underestimated the lengths she would go to make her point. The studio they’ve repurposed as control room is quiet and bereft of distractions, offering him no escape.

“Whatever happens to not mixing business with pleasure?” she asks, going straight for the jugular.

Eddy packs the folders he'd accumulated on their mark into his bag. The PASIV case sits between them like a silent arbiter. “We’re both professionals.”

Toni huffs. The rings on her fingers glint under the fluorescent light when she clenches them. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”

“We’re professionals,” Eddy repeats, though it does little to make him sound more convincing. He tilts his face to stare straight at Toni and scrounges up a crooked smile she doesn’t return. “Besides, it means nothing. We’re just—” He pauses. Swallows. And tries again. “—It doesn’t matter.”

Toni looks at him as though she’s not sure whether she wants to hug him or punch him in the throat. “You’re a shit liar.”

Eddy knows.

.

Brett runs his third red light. Eddy’s hands shake (only a little, just a twitch) where they’re folded on his lap. They had left Tokyo’s comforting anonymity nearly an hour ago, heading into the great unknown like this is some kind of a grand, whimsical adventure. It isn’t. It shouldn’t. Eddy’s mouth presses into a thin line, but he says nothing because he knows Brett isn’t in the mood to listen. It’s slightly disconcerting how much he can read Brett’s silence when he hasn’t known the other man all that long – a thought best shoved into a neat little box at the back of his mind. Far away from that constant urge to over-analyse everything that’s made Eddy so good at his job. A quick glance at Brett and he turns his attention back to the road. A winding nothingness framed in the sweep of headlights, swallowed by darkness beyond that.

He has no idea where they are. He doesn’t think he wants to.

“Pretty sure I heard sirens,” Eddy sighs, keeps his voice level. In the rearview mirror, everything blurs behind them. Nothing red and blue and he’s almost disappointed. “Maybe you should slow down a little.”

The car swerves sudden and sharp, burning rubber on asphalt as they careen down an empty highway. It’s strange that there hasn’t been another car for the past twenty minutes. The clock on the dashboard reads 12:27. The darkness deepens.

Brett steers with one hand and drags the other through his hair, messing it up even further. “We’ll outrun them.”

“Yeah, to the grave,” Eddy mutters. He watches Brett’s eyes gleam in the dark, flashes of quicksilver behind thick glasses. The number on the speedometer climbs past ninety, a hundred. Eddy sinks back into the leather upholstery and stares straight ahead. “Where exactly are we going?”

They’re at a hundred twenty, a girl on the radio is belting out lines of a love song like she’s never had her heart broken, and Brett lets the steering wheel go. “To the end of the world.”

He’s grabbing the lapel of Eddy’s suit, pulling him close (much, much too close) as the car’s front tires run out of ground and they plunge towards the sharp rocks below.

.

Eddy wakes up from the dream and slides the cannula out of his forearm, heading straight for the toilet. Toni calls out after him, but he ignores her. Once the door’s locked, he stands by the sink, gripping its yellowish-white porcelain surface tightly. Taking deep, even breaths. Trying to keep himself from throwing up. It’s just one death out of many. He’d died so many times before (and many more after, if he lives long enough) that there’s no reason for him to get a panic attack over a routine run-through of the set Toni had built. Eddy clenches and unclenches his hands to stop the shaking and once he has them under control, he turns on the tap. Splashes water onto his face, careful to keep his suit dry. The toilet feels too small, dirty linoleum under his polished shoes and he belatedly discovers that the paper towels had long since run out.

He frowns at the guy staring back at him from the cracked mirror, at the beginning of dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been able to sleep much these days, especially after that fuck-up with Su-Oh. Second-guessing himself with every job he takes. Losing even more sleep double, triple checking everything. Which is how he ends up working with Toni and Oliver for the past six months, when he usually picks fresh crews depending on the requirements. He can almost hear Su-Oh syrupy voice at the back of his head ( _hell’s something you carry around with you, baby_ ) and he cups his hands underneath the running tap, ignores how they’ve started to shake again.

He can still feel the residual caress of Brett’s lips against his and ignores that too.

There’s yelling when Eddy comes out of the toilet.

“—ow dare you!” Toni’s voice is a crack of thunder and he’d never seen her this angry in all the years they’ve known each other. Oliver’s standing between her and Brett, hands raised in a placatory manner. Brett is just staring at Toni, his expression as deliberately unaffected as ever, but Eddy doesn’t miss the slight narrowing of his eyes. It spells trouble. Before Eddy can step in and damage control, Toni spits out, “His parents’ car went off a cliff, you fucking asshole! He doesn’t need the reminder! That’s why he explicitly asks us to shoot him in the fucking head if we need to!”

Eddy stops. Brett’s eyes widen a fraction, for a half-second before they flicker towards him. 

He pivots around and walks out of the studio.

.

They complete the job. Eddy stays long enough to make sure everyone's paid in foreign currencies of their choosing, before he takes the first flight out of the local airport.

His phone vibrates with three messages from the same number. He deletes all of them.

.

Home was a place with gentle hills and rolling fields and a long winding road that ended in places as familiar to him as the back of his hand, with names that he can taste in his sleep. Home was a gentle cold that settles in autumn nightfall and there are times he misses it so much, he’s sick with longing. Eddy hasn’t played the violin for three years, hasn’t seen it for two. He keeps it in its case, under his bed after he sold his parents’ place and said goodbye to sweet childhood memories, intent on not looking back. There’s a thick film of dust that leaves streaks on his palm when he opens the case and takes the violin out, the bow next.

It’s like exhuming the body of a long-forgotten lover.

He must’ve drank more than he thought if he’s entertaining macabre sentiments.

It takes some time to convince himself to take the violin out. Goes through the routine of preparation. Hesitates over the first note, the initial contact between his bow and the strings, but it gets easier after. Eddy is halfway through a half-remembered piece, muscle memory and instinct taking over despite the years they’ve been apart, when he hears,

“I didn’t know you play.”

Eddy stops and lowers the bow. Exhales softly. “Did you really break into my apartment when you could’ve just knocked?”

“Where’s the romance in that,” Brett says, his shoulders hitching into an elegant shrug. He moves from the doorway, stepping closer under the guise of studying the violin in Eddy’s hands. Seconds later, his lips slant into a smile. “A Guarneri?”

“Part of a payment to find a missing Monet.” Eddy returns the violin to its case once he'd loosened its hair and wiped down the strings, straps everything in and closes the lid gently. He still has his back to Brett when he says, “What are you doing here?”

Brett is quiet for a while. “Apologising.” A heavy pause. “I was out of line.”

Old wounds. He’s been nursing them so long he doesn’t know what to do when they’re bared in the entirety of their ugliness. “It’s no big deal.”

Eddy wants to ask why Brett had thought being in the middle of plummeting to their deaths as the perfect time to kiss him, but holds his tongue in time.

It’s better to not know.

“We should play together, one of these days.” At Eddy’s wide-eyed surprise, Brett grins. It looks almost teasing. “You didn’t think kids grow up wanting to get into dreamshare and its glamorous criminal undertakings, did you?”

Eddy raises his eyebrows. “Bet you wanted to become a soloist.”

Brett snorts. “Don’t we all?”

Touché. Eddy runs his palm over the violin case again, picks up more dust and wonders if it would hurt more to forget than to remember how his mother used to demand a performance, once every month. “You pick the duet. And somewhere soundproof.”

“Ouch.” Brett places a hand over his chest and a smile touches Eddy’s lips before he can stop himself. “Have more faith, why don’t you.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Within the span of a breath, Brett’s so much closer and Eddy has to take a half-step back at their sudden proximity. “You sound fine.” Brett tilts his head, his fingers curling into Eddy’s belt loops. Pulling him in. “You sound perfect.”

.

The E string snaps and Eddy almost drops the violin in his surprise, the piece grinding to a screeching halt as his bow skids over the rest. He blinks owlishly at the curl of the string and lowers the violin, and only then does he realise how tired he is. The joints of his fingers are stiff, pain radiating outwards as he flexes them to try and mitigate impending cramps. Old age takes away numerous pleasures in life, but Eddy thinks that it’s been kinder to him than most. At least he’s still able to play, albeit for too short of a time before he has to stop. He shuffles to the table to re-string the violin and put it away, groaning when his back joins in the chorus of aches.

Maybe he should get into bed earlier today, with a couple of hot water bottles just in case the weather takes a turn for the worse later.

Eddy’s unwinding the string when he hears it. He straightens, heart hammering inside his chest and mouth going dry.

There’s music coming from somewhere inside the cottage.

.

His run of bad luck is starting to get ridiculous.

They do a garden-variety corporate espionage that goes to absolute shits, but at least nobody died this time. The car drops Eddy three blocks down from his apartment and he loops back a couple times just to make sure he’s not being followed. His body doesn’t appreciate the exertion and by the time he’s climbing the stairs to his floor, he has one hand pressed firmly against the wall for support. His entire right side throbs, painkillers wearing off at the end of a long, long week. There’s nothing he wants more than to sleep for the next three days. Or three months. His phone chimes, lit screen announcing the arrival of Toni and Oliver at their safe house. Good. One less thing to worry about. He labours onto the fifth landing, finds the right door and spends a few seconds squinting at his keys. He’s puzzling over them, brain swaddled in cotton and static, when the door swings open.

Slow and quiet until Eddy isn’t alone and the world doesn’t look so empty.

Brett gives him a critical onceover, sighs and says, “Did you get shot again.”

Eddy wants to point out that he’d been knifed, _thank you very much_ , but his brain is preoccupied with trying to work out what he’s seeing. The beginning of a frown creases his forehead, annoyed at being caught off-guard, but he’s too tired (and in pain) to ask why Brett is here. Eddy takes a step forward only to stumble and Brett catches him with arms wide and ready, somehow managing to keep both of them upright. He’s stronger than he looks and Eddy is very appreciative of that fact right now, when the alternative is to crash face-first onto the floor. He curls his fingers into the folds of Brett’s shirt and is pulled closer, the door shutting behind them with a decisive snap.

His apartment is dimly-lit, soft glow suffusing the inky darkness with warmth and Brett manoeuvres them around silhouettes of furniture until they’re in the bedroom. It shouldn’t surprise Eddy that Brett’s already made himself at home. Brett keeps him standing long enough to start peeling off layers of clothes. The bespoke suit goes first, lovingly tailored to conceal more than skin and bones. Firearms strapped to pallid skin. His hands hover over bloodstained bandages, Brett’s eyes darkening into obsidian-black, before they move elsewhere. Brett is quick and precise, clockwork in his efficiency and he coaxes Eddy into a soft-worn t-shirt and shorts in minutes.

Eddy doesn’t ask how Brett knows where to find everything.

“Hey.” He cuts into the silence with a whisper, arms still half-cradled around Eddy’s waist. As if he’s afraid that something would break if he lets go. Eddy is almost offended. And oddly— grateful. “Let’s get you some sleep, alright?”

He nods, leaning forward until his face is pressed into Brett’s shoulder. Eddy is taller so this is awkward and a bit painful, but he doesn’t move. Brett smells like sandalwood. “Thought you’re in Germany until next week. How’s Hilary?”

Brett’s hand presses into his back, anchoring Eddy in place. “She’s fine. Said ‘hi’ and wanted to know if you can make it to Zelda’s birthday party.”

This feels too intimate, like they’re in some kind of a domestic arrangement when they aren’t, not really. Eddy should push Brett away, kick him out of the apartment. Instead, he says,

“We should get her a pony.”

Brett’s laughter is warm and languid and hurts more than the blade of a too-sharp knife sliding into Eddy’s ribcage.

.

The whiteboard marker squeaks when Eddy circles the word, several times. “Inception.”

Ray exchanges a look with Kian, before he says, “Can’t be done.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Eddy is all jitters, nerves compounded by trepidation, but he soldiers on. Belle once told him that he’s too stubborn for his own good and she’s been right about everything else so far. He twists the cap of the marker to give his hands something to do, to stop them from shaking. “A crew pulled it off and we have the blueprint to do it again. It won’t be easy, but—” he catches Brett’s eyes and remembers Taiwan, their first night together, “—it’s not impossible.”

Kian tells Eddy he’s crazy at least three more times, but nobody walks out on him.

Birds of the same feather and all that shebang.

.

Eddy wakes up in Brett’s bed.

There’s coffee and a bagel on the bedside table. There’s a note telling him that Brett’s going on recon with Kian and that they’re meeting up with the rest of the crew for lunch later.

Eddy crumples the note.

He doesn’t know what any of this means anymore.

.

“It would’ve been easier if I’d learnt to fall in love with you.”

Toni looks up from her chicken sandwich, a smear of mustard at the corner of her mouth. He leans forward and swipes a thumb over it, careful not to touch the downturned curl of her lips. An elderly couple walks past, looking at them with an identical fond expression on their weathered faces. _Ah, to be young and in love_ , the expression says. Nostalgia paints everything in a better light. Eddy cleans his hand with a serviette and wonders how many lifetimes he’ll have to live (how many times he’ll have to die) to put the ghosts inside his head to bed.

She turns away from him. “That’s a very selfish thing to say.”

Eddy supposes it is. She doesn’t deserve his bitter hypotheticals, not after everything they’ve gone through. “Sorry, I’m not— I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Eddy.” Toni’s voice is pitched lower, a tremulous edge to it. “I just want you to be happy.”

Across the street, Michael Obendorf walks out of the imposing monolith of Obendorf & Sons and into a waiting limousine. They get to their feet, Eddy already slipping out his phone to inform Brett about the mark’s movement. They see Ray and Kian in a black sedan, trailing after the limousine and they have approximately twenty minutes to get everyone ready. Eddy hopes Oliver has figured out the doses needed to keep their dreams stable, the deeper they go. He doesn’t need things going sideways before they even get to the dreaming. Eddy shoves the phone back into his pocket, checks his watch and starts for their car.

Toni grabs his forearm before he can get far. He glances back at her, confused.

She asks, “Do you love him?”

.

Two levels down, Eddy gets shot in the guts pushing Toni out of the way after an altercation with Michael’s trained projections. He hears Brett yelling at them through the hallway, demanding to know what happened. The bullet hole doesn’t show on his dark suit and the blood seeps right through, blending in. It doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would, probably the after-effect of the drug that’s keeping them under. He waves aside Toni’s tearful cries in favour of telling her to set up the PASIV. Kian and Oliver are on their way, with Michael in tow, and Ray’s laying cover fire for them to relocate. They’re running out of time.

Brett rushes into the room, takes one look at Eddy and curses.

“We need to keep going,” Eddy reminds everyone else, before Brett can get a word in. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

The joke, unsurprisingly, falls flat.

Brett props Eddy up against him, the hand around Eddy’s waist gripping a bit too tight for comfort. He grits out, under his breath so nobody else can hear them, “Why the fuck are you always getting shot?”

Eddy lets out a short wheeze of laughter as he’s fed a needle for the next descent. “How else am I going to get your attention?”

Brett’s lips thin into a severe line. Eddy opens his mouth to apologise ( _it’s a joke, it’s a joke_ ), but Brett says, “Don’t fucking die.”

Eddy grins. He doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

Three levels down, Ray leaves the pool room with Michael, making a beeline for the last part of the plan before the idea is fully ingrained, and Eddy has to wait for the door to close behind the two before he crumples to his knees. His breath is getting shallower, hitching with every other inhale. Brett’s hands are a steady pressure where they’re pressed against the hole in Eddy’s stomach. He’s trying to stem the blood flow as much as he can, but Eddy can tell that it’s too late to do anything. His fingers slide against Brett’s wrist, leaves a dark carmine imprint on the skin there.

Eddy counts each breath he takes and his world narrows down to Brett.

“We didn’t even get to play that duet,” he murmurs, hates how bitter regret tastes like. "Sorry, mate."

“I’ll find you.” Brett leans down, lips brushing against Eddy’s forehead. His glasses are slightly askance. It’s the first time Eddy hears the barbwire coil of fear in Brett’s voice. “Doesn’t matter how long it takes, so wait for me, alright? I promise—”

Eddy closes his eyes and slides under.

.

There’s a knock on the front door. Once, then a couple more. Eddy looks away from the violin, forehead creasing into a frown. He very rarely gets any visitor, never one that’s uninvited. Eddy moves slowly away from the table and each step he takes brings him closer to the door. The knocking hasn’t stopped, has taken on a somewhat frantic cadence the longer it goes and he thinks about who might be on the other side. Perhaps a motorist who’s taken a wrong turn. Or a neighbour in need of help. It’s nice to have a surprise once in a while, Eddy decides, a smile flitting across his face. He can’t remember the last time he’d talked to someone else.

The young man has a hand half-raised when Eddy opens the door. He’s dark-haired and wild-eyed, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. A thin layer of snow has already accumulated over his dove grey suit and it's inadequate for the season. Out of place.

Eddy gets out a soft “Hello—” before he’s cut off.

“Eddy.” In his surprise to hear his name coming from a stranger, he doesn’t see the gun. It’s a small mercy, he’d think later. “Eddy, you need to wake up. Now.”

.

Eddy wakes up.

Eddy wakes up and sees Brett peering down at him, the look of stark relief on the other man’s face making him wonder if he’s still dreaming. There’s no reason for Brett to look at him like that, unless—

Unless—

Brett’s thumb brushes his cheekbone. “Took you long enough.”

.

**end**

.


End file.
